


Intersection

by stuffbyshelbyfics



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: A Better World (Gravity Falls), Journal 3 spoilers, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-21
Updated: 2018-06-21
Packaged: 2019-05-26 13:37:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,095
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15002021
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stuffbyshelbyfics/pseuds/stuffbyshelbyfics
Summary: Parallel Fiddleford tries unsuccessfully to convince Stanford to stay.





	Intersection

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Inkblot9](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Inkblot9/gifts).



Stanford ran his fingers over the paper-covered desk, feeling the familiar texture of parchment and dust under his six-fingered hands. “You’ve sure done a lot of research on this,” he said.

This dimension’s Fiddleford nodded, his foot tapping nervously. “One of our first real goals was to expand the periodic table of elements to include substances from other planes.” The man’s southern accent was heart-achingly familiar, even after all these years, but Ford tried hard to focus on the information Fiddleford was supplying him. “We had to make new categories to fit ol’ Nowyouseeitnowyoudon’tium in.”

Ford turned to face him again, placing a hand on his shoulder. “Thank you for all your help,” he said seriously. “This weapon might not be functional at all if it weren’t for you and your technology.”

Fiddleford let his own hand linger on Ford’s, his smooth fingers sliding over the traveler’s calloused knuckles. “No problem,” he gulped.

As the two of them continued to rustle among the papers for notes that could be of use to Stanford’s mission, Fiddleford could feel a certain tension growing in the air, one that Ford still seemed oblivious to. There was something he simply had to request.

“Stanford?” he proposed nervously, “There’s been somethin’ I’ve been meaning to ask ya.” 

His extra-dimensional counterpart straightened up from his search. “Yes?”

“Well… It’s all this runnin’ you’ve been doing, right? All the hiding and fighting and escaping from Bill and suchlike. You’re proabably pretty tuckered out after all that, aren’t you?”

“… Yes, I have to admit. It does become very draining after a while,” Ford conceded, lowering his gaze.

“So why don’t you stay here for a while? For a reason other than workin’ on your gun, I mean. Like, to actually rest.”

Ford’s eyes widened in surprise, taking a step back, as if Fiddleford had suggested that he go skinny-dipping in a flooded, piranha-infested river. “I can’t just stop working on this, Fiddleford,” he protested, raising his hands in a gesture that was sorely familiar to the weary scientist. “This is my life’s mission! I can’t quit until Bill’s been defeated.”  
“It wouldn’t be forever.” Fiddleford began to hesitantly step nearer, his voice raising slightly. “Just long enough for you to get your strength back, that’s all. And even then, why not stay here? I care about you, Stanford. I don’t want ya to have to suffer anymore.”

Ford slowly realized that his back was instinctively pressed against the wall. He forced himself to untense, letting a deep, shaky sigh escape his chest.

“I care about you too,” he mumbled, embarrassed and frustrated at how upset he was. “But I can’t stop here…” He could feel Fiddleford’s hands creeping around his waist and towards his back, gliding smoothly over the fabric of his coat.

“Just for a little while,” the slender scientist whispered, his lips a hair’s breadth from Ford’s, and slowly closed the distance.

The sensation was so soft and gentle, so different from almost everything else he’d experienced in the last few decades, and such a poignant remnant of the years spent on his own Earth with his own Fiddleford that Ford almost allowed a sob to bubble forth from its long-term confinement in the depths of his psyche. Fiddleford pressed his hips forward into his, deliberately pushing and withdrawing in patterns of intimate enthusiasm. Stanford gripped the back of Fiddleford’s shirt and shut his eyes tightly, desperately wanting to lose himself in the warmth growing between them. He could already feel his thoughts becoming heavy and fuzzy, slowing under the sweet onslaught of Fiddleford’s lips on his own.

“Stay here,” his partner murmured, kissing him again before he could respond. “Stay with me.”

Ford could only hum in reply, rubbing Fiddleford’s back with his fingertips. Working on his Quantum Destabilizer didn’t seem to have quite the same urgency as it had had when he’d first arrived in this parallel dimension, but there was still something to worry about.

“What about your Stanford?” he mumbled against Fiddleford’s cheek, managing to extricate himself. “If we meet, won’t it be the end of the universe?”

“He doesn’t have to know,” the man purred, leaving an especially soft kiss on his neck. That answer was good enough for Ford in this safe, sleepy state, and he returned to reciprocating his tight embrace.

It was only when Fiddleford’s fingers began to inch under his shirt that Stanford started to shy away from his advances. He forced his hands to move, curling around Fiddleford’s thin wrists and prying them away from his hips.

“I can’t stay here,” he insisted gently, “I have to defeat Bill. I love you, but I have to keep moving.”

Fiddleford’s expression fell, his eyes widening. “But - But this dimension’s safe,” he tittered nervously, “Why would you wanna leave?”

“That’s exactly why I have to go. The rest of the multiverse isn’t safe from Bill yet; the longer I wait, the more destruction he’ll cause. Now, will you help me finish my gun?”

“Of course,” Fiddleford said hollowly, still facing the wall as Ford strode past him back to the desk. He turned and made as if to raise his hand, but appeared to think better of it and began to slowly reach inside his lab coat. Carefully and silently, he groped inside an inner pocket and withdrew a strange gun with a light bulb where the nozzle would be.

He kept his gaze fixated on his interdimensional guest as he readied the gun, only lowering his eyes to input a few words on the dark screen with the circular dial. Taking a deep breath, he raised the gun and trained it on the back of Stanford’s head as he continued to rifle among the papers, and slowly squeezed the trigger.

\-----------------------------------------------------------

“Stanford? Are you alright?”

Ford opened his heavy eyes with a bewildered whimper, gazing up at Fiddleford from where he’d fallen onto the floor. His mind was moving slowly and there seemed to be a heavy cloud obstructing most of his thoughts, but he made an effort to raise himself up on his arms as his companion fretted over him. “What happened?” he mumbled.

“You just fell over! I think you musta blacked out or somethin’.”

“I have been spending a lot of time in outer space,” he admitted, rising to his feet. “I suppose the change in atmosphere could have had some weird effects. Uh… What were we talking about?”

“We were gonna keep workin’ on that gun a’ yers,” Fiddleford grinned sheepishly, extending a hand.

“Ah, yes.” Stanford took it.


End file.
